


the abyss of death, or how eddie came to be (again)

by hearteyeshader (i_ship_destiel)



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Blood Loss, Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Gay Richie Tozier, I haven't decided, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mentioned Maturin | The Turtle, Stanley Uris Lives, Stream of Consciousness, The Author Regrets Nothing, The Turtle CAN Help Us (IT), becuase, eddie trips the fuck out before he dies, or does he?, yes I wrote like stephen king fight me, you know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:33:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27151828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_ship_destiel/pseuds/hearteyeshader
Summary: “You’re fucking kidding me,” he snapped. Glancing up at the turtle, he felt a surge of irrational anger as it looked back at him. The turtle was looking at him. “Hey, fuck you, dude. Fuck this shit.”The turtle blinked slowly, as if comprehending his words. But that was impossible. Turtles couldn’t speak. Wait.“Where am I?” Eddie asked. His voice sounded tiny, lost in the cavern. The turtle blinked again.“Where am I?” he repeated.***Eddie dies. He meets a giant fucking turtle. He thinks a lot, mostly about Richie. And he finds himself.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 1
Kudos: 43





	the abyss of death, or how eddie came to be (again)

**Author's Note:**

> tw// gore
> 
> well here I am. this is not any of the hader fics I promised anyone. I wrote this in one sitting, this is based on something i wrote for my ethics midterm. I copied part of my midterm word for word into this because I have no regrets. also this is my first published fic so... yeah. I definitely should have done something better with my time. this is not going to be my only fix-it fic. enjoy! 
> 
> comments and thoughts always welcome! follow me on my priv twitter @hearteyeshader for more of this nonsense

The stunned look on Richie’s face was something that Eddie had never seen before. He could not begin to comprehend the blend of emotions that he saw in the eyes of his best friend. Pain, horror, relief, it all jumbled together as Richie stared back up at him, murky blue eyes clearing when he saw the other man. He was vaguely aware of someone shouting, a desperate war cry until he realized it was him. 

“I think I got it, man! I killed it! I did! I think I killed it for re-”

And then a blazing pain was rushing through him, muscle and organs tearing, bones snapping, flesh splitting open, and he was aware of Richie’s eyes filling with  _ fear _ , of the red seeping out of him, splattering onto Richie’s shirt and face and hands, and then Richie was holding him, pressing him into a rock, shaking and sobbing, tears streaming golden down his face, illuminated by the light of the screaming, chthonic beast. He was fading in and out of the world, vision fading and then rapidly sharpening as he watched the shadows of his friends transform into the heroes of his youth. They were the Avengers, the X-Men, hurling insults like swords at It, watching it crumble as they screamed. The Black Widow was there, tight black suit and red hair streaming around her face, and then her hair became matted and tangled, her suit became clothes smeared with blood and sewage and  _ filth -  _ they’re filthy, Eddie, those boys and that  _ whore _ , they’ll taint you and ruin you, chew you up and spit you out (shut up shut up  _ shut up SHUT UP _ ) - and then her harsh features were replaced with shadowy freckles and sharp eyes and Bev was there, running by him and screaming something about her father. He watched as Bill ran by, holding a rock and throwing it as hard as he could into the gaping, bleeding maw of It, and suddenly he was Batman, hurling a Batarang at the Joker (who can do it, yes he can, Batman can, throws a blade, hey there goes Batman, your cold and chilly local Batman)  _ those are the wrong words, fucknuts, that’s the spiderman theme song shut the fuck up richie let him make up a new song y-y-yeah b-b-ben’s right, f-f-f-uckhead, l-let him s-sing will you all SHUT UP i’m trying to do my homework okay you goody two-shoes  _ and Batman was shouting something about bad endings, that the endings were all bad because of him, because of the monster, and then he could have sworn he saw Nightwing flash by, but Nightwing had curly brown hair and a long face and sad eyes and he heard him let out a long coo like a mourning dove then then then THEN 

and then he heard gurgling sounds and they were too loud,  _ too loud _ was there a waterfall in here? Because it seemed like there was a waterfall that was threatening to spill over and then he realized it was him blood coming out of his mouth blood coming out of his body, blood filling up his lungs like air and there was  _ blood blood blood everywhere  _ and suddenly he was young again, sitting in front of Ben with a handkerchief and carefully daubing the blood away from his stomach as he listened to Richie cuss Bowers out  _ shut the hell up, Trashmouth, he’s already overwhelmed  _ and then he saw Ben, Ben was Steve Rogers, Ben was Captain America, picking up his shield - he blinked - a rock and throwing the rock that had to have weighed as much as a small child and heaving it at It, the thing that still loomed like a nightmare, and then Mike was there but Mike was trapped in a suit made of metal  _ war machine  _ god he didn’t know why he had liked that character so much but he had snuck out once Myra was asleep to go see that superhero movie and he had loved how War Machine spoke how much he reminded him of someone, his calmness and humor and wit and it hurts, make it stop god it hurts it hurts it hurts me make it stop stop stop stop and then there was Richie and everything slowed down.

There was Richie screaming at Bowers and throwing rocks, there was Richie cursing as he tripped and fell in the Barrens, Richie running by him to leap into the quarry. Richie with his hands that were always too big until now, when he had clasped Eddie’s face and said, so gentle, gentler than he had ever heard him, “You’re braver than you think,” Richie with his loud laugh and funny shirts, Richie who would crawl through his window smelling like weed and liquor, Richie, he realized now, who he had shelled out hundreds of dollars for to see stand on stage and tell those crude, crude jokes that somehow fit him, but not quite right, like the large shirts that had always hung off of his lanky frame as a child, just waiting to be grown into. 

And then there was Richie above him, holding him close and screaming things that didn’t even sound like words. It was an anguished wail that tore through Eddie as he watched his friend sob over him. His hands fluttered around Eddie as though he was afraid to touch him, yet he was still held tight, fingers prying into his shoulders. Richie was looking in his eyes, lashes clumped together with tears, lips moving and forming words that he could no longer understand. Everything was growing foggy. Richie remained clear, his trembling hands a warm and familiar weight on Eddie’s shoulders, he could feel their burn through his jacket. No, wait, that was a leather jacket. He didn’t wear leather jackets, that was

“richie”

And his friend was silent. He wanted to tell him, wanted to tell him what he had seen, what he was thinking. He glanced up at Richie, taking in everything, opening his mouth and praying that his heart would know what to say. 

And then he closed his eyes and slept.

Death was neither bad nor good. 

He awoke in the cavern again, a crick in his neck. Glancing about, he rose to his feet unsteadily and glanced around, looking for the Losers, but they were not there. It was not there. Instead, a giant turtle sat in the center of the cavern, dark shell speckled with stars that, somehow, Eddie understood were in fact  _ stars _ , they were the cosmos and somehow he was looking at life itself. The turtle - what the fuck was happening - looked at him like it was trying to communicate with him. As Eddie frantically tried to piece things together, he noticed that the eyes of the turtle were shaded like the Earth, deep blue with pangeal splotches of green that, he now realized, were the same shade as the moss and vines that sprouted from the center of the room. The turtle lay in a bed of greenery that surely could not exist so far underground, in such a dismal place, and he opened his mouth to say this, and then a thought pierced through his mind  **you are correct, my son. this is not where you were, but this is not where you were meant to be, either. life cannot be sustained here. it is merely a passing over point** and this thought was not his. It was sonorous in a way that orchestras were, in the timbre that he somehow knew space sounded like. 

He looked at the turtle, and the turtle looked back at him. 

The turtle looked back at him like it could  _ understand  _ him. 

His jaw clicked as he opened his mouth to speak. And the little twinge of pain reminded him. He put a hand to his heart, not daring to look down at himself. The fabric of his shirt was torn, yet he felt flesh underneath. Strong, unyielding flesh and bone under his palm. The thump of his heartbeat had always terrified him, as he thought about mortality and death, how at any minute his heart could stop. Sparing a glance, he saw that his shirt was ripped, that there was a ring of dark maroon around it, dripping down onto his pants. The maroon was on his hands - he suddenly realized what was sticky on his throat - and under his nails, and he grimaced. 

**you will have time to clean yourself later.**

“You’re  _ fucking  _ kidding me,” he snapped. Glancing up at the turtle, he felt a surge of irrational anger as it looked back at him. The turtle was  _ looking at him _ . “Hey, fuck you, dude. Fuck this shit.”

The turtle blinked slowly, as if comprehending his words. But that was impossible. Turtles couldn’t  _ speak _ . Wait. 

“Where am I?” Eddie asked. His voice sounded tiny, lost in the cavern. The turtle blinked again. 

“Where am I?” he repeated. 

The turtle blinked again. As if it was thinking of how to tell him something impossible.

“WHERE AM I?” Eddie screamed, tasting blood in his mouth. “I KNOW YOU CAN UNDERSTAND ME, YOU STUPID MOTHERFUCKING TURTLE! WHERE AM I?” 

And his voice that should have echoed off of the walls did not. 

And Eddie realized, where, exactly, he was.

And then the voice came again. 

**death simply exists when we do not, and when we exist, death does not, because we are not experiencing it. while the consequences of death may be bad, such as losing a loved one, and the act of dying is bad, death in itself is simply a state of being in which we cease to exist. we cannot pass judgements on death since once it arrives, we are not there to determine what it is like. only the living can pass judgment on death, but they do not know what it is like to be dead, do they? death and dying are two very different things. death only affects the living, and dying affects the dead. death does not impact anyone other than those who grieve. it may be that dying acts as a gateway into death, for that is where we see what it is like to begin the process of separating from reality. it is in this process that we can determine dying is bad, since dying brings fear, the notion of mortality, pain, and sickness. yet dying is seperate from death. it is an action that leads into a state of being, but the two are not the same. yet you are dead, my child. you are gone to the elements, your skin will decompose, your bones will dry, and you will be gone.**

Eddie sat down very slowly. 

“Will anyone ever find me?” he asked, voice raspy and tired. Tears burned at the back of his eyes. He felt very, very small. Rubbing his eyes with the heel of his bloody hand, something so foreign, he awaited an answer. 

**do you deserve to be found?**

“I think so.”

**it is a yes or no answer, Edward**

Eddie thought for a moment. 

“Will I be stuck there forever?”

**that is not the kind of found I am speaking of**

Eddie frowned, and feeling his face slide back into such a familiar position made him feel something. Contentment, perhaps? 

He thought for another moment. 

“I didn’t think I was lost.”

**you were lost. but then you came back. back to Derry, back to them. but you are not found. not yet, anyway.**

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” 

**you almost realized, before you died, you know.**

“ _ What  _ did I almost realize? God, it’s like I’m talking to the fucking Riddler or some shit. Can’t you just tell me why I’m here? Why I’m not decomposing already or some shit?” And god, he’s  _ dead _ , he thought, this is actually real. He’s dead and talking to a giant fucking turtle, but he’s not buring in hell like he thought he would be, he’s not not existing, he’s walking and talking and talking to a fucking turtle at that, and he was about to spiral again before the turtle interrupts his thoughts. 

**sometimes, somehow, when people forget how or why they live, they simply need a push.**

Eddie frowned. He hesitated. “I… I thought I knew why. But maybe I don’t.” 

**i believe you do. you simply needed a moment to consider it. consider who you were before, and who you were after Derry.**

He thought. And thought, and thought some more. And he began to think about his friends. He thought about Richie in particular, how it had felt seeing him again for the first time. He thought about his first impression, how Richie, loud, obnoxious Richie had taken his hand when they arm-wrestled and how, just for a moment, it had felt though he had been struck by lightning. He thought about how Richie, who had almost turned tail and fled, had taken his face in his hands and said “you’re braver than you think” with such tenderness that he almost seemed to be saying something else, and how the feeling of lightning sweeping over him had again struck. And he thought about what was, what had been, and what could be. Thought of Myra, thought of Richie, thought of what he wants, what’s important now that he has these memories back, of his friends, of Richie, of his life in New York.

And he slowly, slowly began to realize. He looked up at the turtle and nodded. 

**it seems you have found yourself.**

“I suppose I have.”

**very well, then.**

“So now what?’ He asked. He thought he knew the answer. 

**this is a place of in-betweens, Edward. in between life and death, love and hate, forgetting and remembering, loss and reconciliation. in between the abyss of death or the joy of life. you may only go forward or backward.**

“So… so it’s up to me?” Eddie’s voice was quiet again. The turtle was silent. “Seriously, man?”

**in a way, yes. and in a way, no.**

Eddie sunk, deflated, like his lungs were back  _ there _ , back where his body was crumpled and probably alone by now. 

“Are you God?” 

**not necessarily.**

“But you could get me home? Back to my friends? Back to Richie?”

**it will be a lot of hard work, Edward.**

Eddie jumped to his feet. “Please.” The eagerness in his voice surprises him. “Please. I want to go back. I  _ need  _ to go back.”

The turtle blinked, as if considering something.

**just think of him. think of him and you will be returned to him.**

Eddie closed his eyes and thought. Allowed everything to flood over him. He thought of Bev and her smile, the way her hands had always reached for his when he was sad. Of Bill, who always knew what to say, even if it took him a while to say it. Of Mike, his pillar of strength and intelligence, the one who could see inside Eddie, who knew. Of Ben, who had lingered around the edges for too long, who Eddie had felt a kinship with, two scared little boys. Of Stan, who had always, always been there with his wit and kindness and guidance. And of Richie.

_ Richie.  _ Richie, who had always danced around him, Richie who was the flame that had drawn Eddie in. His loud laugh and louder personality. Richie, who was everything Eddie wanted to be and nothing he wanted to be. Bold, overreaching, clumsy, loving, devoted, trashmouthed Richie. His Richie, the Richie that no one had seen, the Richie who would sneak into his window and listen for once in his life as Eddie talked about how his mother had made him miserable that day, the Richie who would write little notes for him and kick them to Eddie in the middle of class, the Richie who would wait for him after school. He thought about Richie now, how, even though they had only been reunited for a few days, the Richie that still laughed the same, the Richie who was still just as loud, whose Voices had only gotten better, whose jokes had stayed the same, whose hands had grown into his body, whose smile was the exact same when he looked at Eddie and Eddie looked back. 

And he thought of Richie in all of the ways that he had tried to forget. The soft downturn of his lips when he rarely frowned and how Eddie had longed to erase it with a kiss. The way his tongue had slurped at ice-cream then and licked saki off of his own mouth what felt like minutes ago. He thought of when Richie got mad, how his voice hardened and turned steely, how, when Eddie had heard it for the first time, he had felt a stirring that he didn’t quite understand, but how now he knew he wanted that voice directed at him. He thought of the way Richie’s arms had looked in his mustard t-shirt, how they had flexed when he pulled his leather jacket on after dinner, how he had caught Eddie staring and  _ winked _ , how Eddie longed for those arms to hold him close hold him down hold him open hold him against a wall and now he was thinking of everything he had suppressed, those nights alone in bars and the swoosh in his gut that he had felt when men looked at him but how nothing compared to  _ Richie _ . He thought of Richie’s lips parting as he had stared up at Eddie what really  _ had  _ been minutes ago, and how he had looked at Eddie’s like maybe they were thinking the same thing. 

And Eddie could practically feel the drag of his mouth on Richie’s, how he would taste, how he was sure to make noise as Eddie licked into his mouth, the burn of his stubble on Eddie’s neck and thighs, the way he was sure Richie would suck marks into him because he had  _ always  _ been possessive. He thought of how Richie would grab him with those big hands and throw him down, pin him under his huge frame and have his way with him, absolutely destroy him, because Richie was  _ big  _ and  _ strong  _ now, he was sure that he could absolutely ruin him if he wanted to. And Edde wanted to be ruined now. He wanted to be taken apart. He wanted Richie, and the want, the greed for him was so consuming that it hurt him. He thought of Richie pounding him into him, the sharp little noises he would make, the incessant babbling that would spill from his mouth the more Eddie sucked him in. He thought of Richie’s hands over his, holding him down as he moved in him slowly, looking at him with tenderness, thought of Richie’s lips fused to him as they molded against each other in bed, shaking, yearning, gasping, burning for each other. He thought about Richie on his knees,  _ himself  _ on his knees, throat spasming in a way he could only dream of. He thought of Richie, only Richie, and then there was a pulsing in his ears, a vibration in his body that reminded him of that big, dark cavern, full of that openness and the turtle and then he was seeing the save cavern but full of darkness

and it was dark and he was alone and scared and then

and then he was surging forward, propelling himself off of the ground into a group of very startled Losers, landing on top of someone who let out a loud shout. Edie reared back in shock, looking at who was under him, and when he saw it was Ben, he jumped up and turned, looking for the man that stood over the rest of them, not even attempting to apologize. 

He heard a muffled sob and turned, looking to the source, and saw Richie standing, staring at him with his dark eyes streaming tears and his chest covered in blood  _ that’s mine, ew _ and then he was moving forward, throwing himself at Richie so fast he was surprised he didn’t knock him over. And he was warm and stronger than Eddie had imagined, and his arms were stuck by his sides, and though the Losers were all shouting questions and crying, Eddie pulled out of the hug just long enough to look in Richie’s eyes.

“Rich? What is it?” He dimly heard someone say behind him.

He watched as Richie looked at him, waited for something he was not sure of. He trembled as Richie placed a hand on his chest, right over his heart, placed a hand on his face, right where the scar was. He saw as Richie closed his eyes, leaned in, and he felt his heart explode when Richie pressed his lips to his. And it was just as he had expected. His hands were firm, and his stubble was rough, and his lips were chapped and salty from the tears that still ran down his face, and it was perfect.

“You came  _ back _ .” Richie whispered as he pulled away.

Eddie smiled at him, the first smile he had meant in a long time. “I had to find myself first.”

And as the ground shook around them, the group looked at each other and ran. Richie’s hand slipped right into Eddie’s, and they ran out of the crumbling remains of Eddie’s tomb. They ran and ran and when they were out of Neibolt, they watched it slip and dissolve into the ground, their pasts behind them and their futures bright like the sun that shone above them. 

And as they slowly walked back towards Derry, wartorn soldiers, covered in blood and sweat and filth, as they all recounted the events that Eddie had missed, he saw a turtle on the side of the road.

The turtle blinked.

Eddie blinked. 

  
  
  



End file.
